Kristin Leeder / The Post-StandardJohn Colianni takes a break from his retirement party to stand in front of buses he used to drive for many years.

My column for Monday, March 23:

Sean Kirst
Post-Standard columnist

John Colianni took a call last week from a union official at First Student Bus Services. The guy wondered if John could stop by the Syracuse office Friday to finish some paperwork. John showed up and shot the breeze with fellow drivers in the lunchroom, until someone handed Clara Bennett a big cake.

"Hey," John asked. "Whose birthday?"

The call about the paperwork had been a ruse. Clara looked up and said, "John! This is for you!"

The other drivers hollered and applauded. "Sweet daddy John!" shouted one. John stood up and rocked a bit on his feet, clearly unsure of what to do with the limelight. His colleagues solved the problem. They buried him in hugs.

At 84, John retired this month after 22 years of driving a school bus. He was easily the oldest driver at First Student, which handles many routes for schoolchildren in greater Syracuse.

"He might have been the oldest school bus driver in the state," said David Ruebsamen, a fellow driver.

Kristin Leeder / The Post-StandardSpiros Lostaros of Liverpool signs a card for John Colianni Friday at Colianni's surprise retirement party.

The affection had far less to do with longevity than with the way John carries himself. Driving a bus can be tiring and stressful. Some boys and girls are nice. Some aren't. Around here, seasons quickly change from sticky heat into deep snow and ice. Too many times, carelessly parked cars make it hard to drive a bus on city streets.

Morning and night, at First Student, one driver kept smiling.

"John's one of a kind," said Clara, 63.

With 36 years of experience, she's one of the few drivers with more seniority. She collected $319 for John while handing around a retirement card. There were so many signatures she ran out of room. The spillover covered two sheets of blank paper.

For decades, Clara and John teamed up to organize excursions to Atlantic City. They put together Christmas parties for the drivers. In the summer, they arranged family trips to Darien Lake.

"He's just got a beautiful heart," Clara said.

John considers himself a lucky guy. He was raised in Scranton, Pa. He left school in the 11th grade to support his family, after his father died. His only fear was that one day he'd need to work in the coal mines. John understood what that meant. He watched as weary miners sedated themselves each night in the "beer garden." Many died from lung cancer - including one of his brothers.

After serving in the Pacific during World War II, John came home and found a job driving a truck. He remains grateful. The road meant freedom when compared to being locked up underground. John got married. His family was the center of his life. But his first wife, Ann, died of cancer when she was 42.

His children were young. John had to keep going. As part of his travels, he often stopped at the New York Bakery in Solvay, where he built up a friendship with Linda Vincentini, the office manager.

One day, he steeled himself and asked her for a date. Over 10 years, she had never seen him without a baseball cap. When he came to her door, it was the first time she realized he was bald.

John also was one of the kindest, most decent men she'd ever met. They were married. Between them, they have five children, 10 grandchildren and one great-grandchild.

They lived in Scranton until John retired from driving a truck. They moved to Syracuse to be close to Linda's family. Once they got here, John took the job driving a bus. He also delivers weekly newspapers around the neighborhood. The job demands plenty of walking. He does not plan to quit.

"My father never sits still," said Karen Colianni, his youngest daughter. He mows his own grass. He also mows Karen's. He snowblows his driveway. Then he'll move on to his neighbor's. He watches his grandchildren and he has been known to change a diaper.

At work, where he was much the same, the other drivers loved him.

John had thought for a while about retiring. This year, the company gently agreed that it was time.

Friday, in the crowded lunchroom, driver after driver shared tales of John's kind acts. They gathered in a circle around John and his cake, and Clara led them in singing, "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."

The old song was no cliche. The last line defined John.

Sean Kirst is a columnist with The Post-Standard. E-mail him at skirst@syracuse.com, visit his blog and forum at www.syracuse.com/kirst or write to him in care of The Post-Standard, Clinton Square, Syracuse 13221.